Dylan,
It's funny how they all think I'm okay. They think I live the perfect life; all friends, good grades. They think that I don't struggle.
I am the only one who knows.
My mom is almost abusive. My dad is never home. I'm overweight and ugly. I pick my scabs. The top of my head is always bleeding. I have an infected cut on my boob. I'm 130 pounds and growing. I eat too much. I'm lazy. I'm arrogant, self-centered, and rude. I cry a lot. I never get enough sleep, so I have these dark rings under my eyes. I think about suicide a lot. I wonder what it would be like. I wonder if I would be missed.
Warning: Avoid mom when she says:
Damn, f***, or any other swear word
When her voice can be heard over my iPod
When she sounds even slightly stressed
At meal time
Reasons that I'm hurting:
I miss Gabe. He was my first love. I never even got to say goodbye.
My mom. She's mean to me, and them she expects me to be nice to her.
My dad. He used to be on my side, but he isn't.
Lack of soda. Soda bingeing was my way of forgetting things.
You. It's like you don't trust me at all. And later, it's like I'm the only thing that matters.
Things I shouldn't do:
Kill myself.
Starve myself.
Binge and purge.
Cut.
Jamison
